What Are You Hiding?
by ghost-of-a-scarecrow
Summary: There's something in Yakko's past that the Warners are hiding, and as any good p-sychiatrist would, Scratchansniff wants to find out what it is. Various POVs. R&R please!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Thank you to those who are reviewing my stories! It's like a hyperactive energy drink that keeps me writing. Anyhow, this story is going to be a longer one, hopefully I can stick with it. Please R&R **

**This Chapter: Yakko's Point of View**

**Next Chapter: …Who knows?**

**Chapter 1**

The light layer of artificial snow crunched lightly under my feet as I walked towards the tower. It was a beautiful night; the stars had finally decided to show themselves for all their worth, and the buildings that were normally grey at this time of night were instead a greyish-blue. I allowed myself to limp slightly; no one was around to see. It was far more comfortable than hiding it all day, and hiding it wasn't the most comfortable procedure; it's very hard to pretend that there's nothing wrong with your leg when you're physically unable to walk properly. But I'd devised a system that at least made it _look_ normal. I reached the ladder and grabbed the rung level to my face, and started climbing.

"Yakko?"

I froze. I hadn't even gotten halfway to the top yet. Turning around, I found Scratchy standing a few feet from the door of his office.

"Yeah, Scratchy?" I answered nonchalantly. He started to walk towards me, and I hopped down from the ladder.

"Vhat are you doing up so late?" I looked up at him. "Ditto," I said. He gave me that classic frustrated look. Although I was tired, I wasn't going to make this conversation any easier than the others we've had. I waited patiently for him to say something.

"Yakko, it's past midnight," he said finally.

"All the more reason for you to be in bed," I said in a mock accusatory tone. Scratchy sighed.

"I vas vorking," he said. I briefly noted the tired circles under his eyes. Those had not been caused by only one sleepless night, and he hadn't had an appointment with any of the actors for at least the past week. Unless he was evaluating old files for the fun of it, he had no work to do.

"You're lying," I said, in all seriousness. Scratchy seemed to be a bit surprised at my perceptiveness, but he shook it off. He sighed again. I waited for him to speak. When he didn't, I decided that I might as well answer his original question; time was running short.

"I was going for a walk," I said, partially in truth.

"Mm hm."

"Scratchy, why don't you just get to the point?" I asked. I was getting kind of frustrated by now, and it must have shown in my voice. Scratchy looked slightly taken aback, but he kept his cool. I had to give him props for that.

"Vhere do you go every night, Yakko?" Something leapt in my chest. So he'd seen me come and go... damn. He'd probably seen me limping, too.

"Just for a walk," I said quickly as I turned back to the ladder and started climbing once again. I didn't even turn around when he started talking again. Something inside me had snapped when he implied that he had been spying on me. Couldn't I even get a moment to myself? I know I live on a studio lot, but this is just ridiculous.

"Vell, Yakko, if you vant to talk... my office is alvays open," Scratchy called up to me. I opened the door of our water tower, pausing only to glance back at him before I stepped inside. Just in time, too. Wakko was just starting to shift in his sleep. He'd wake up any minute. I ran into the kitchen and whipped out a glass from the cupboard, filling it halfway with milk. How he'd gotten into the habit of waking up at three in the morning – thirsty – I'd never know. One night, he just decided to get himself up for a glass of milk. On his way to the kitchen he had bumped his head on every conceivable object lying around. Completely unfazed, he had done what he'd gotten up to do, then went quietly back to bed. I'd just gotten back from my nightly outing and into my own bed when this happened, so when he did it the next night, and the next, I assumed the knocks to the head had started it on a course for habit. So instead of watching him hit himself sleepily on all surfaces on his way to the kitchen, I decided I'd just get him the milk and leave it on his nightstand before I went to bed. He already had middle-kid syndrome to deal with.

Walking back towards my bed, I left his milk on the nightstand as I passed, hearing him mumble something that sounded a lot like "...so that'show it getsthere..." and I couldn't suppress a smile. I took off my thick green scarf and settled down beneath the welcoming sheets. I heard my brother slide the glass from the nightstand and drink from it noisily, barely finishing its contents before he was once again out like a light. I suppose his habit was no worse than mine, and I assumed it was only a matter of time before Dot developed a nightly quirk of her own. I lay in silence wondering for a moment how long Scratchy'd been watching my coming and going, before I too fell into a welcome, dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>Homework, I must say, is an exercise in ineffectuality. There is simply no point. I would much prefer to do something productive, like writing jokes or scripts. My sibs and I already have full-time jobs, yet we go to school. Now tell me, does that make sense, or does it not? Not. Definitely not. Yet, we go to school, and receive a mass amount of homework. I suppose today's load isn't that bad. We're supposed to be writing a paper about opportunity and its place in modern society. Easy enough.<p>

_In the modern mentality, when opportunity knocks, you tend to walk cautiously up to the door, unlock it, peek through, think maybe that particular opportunity wasn't meant for you, slam the door, lock it, think perhaps that it was meant for you after all, yank hard on the door, dislocate our shoulder, and wind up lying in a hospital wondering: "Why didn't I unlock the door?" That, my friend, was opportunity. So sorry you missed its call._

Well, that seemed like a good start. Now all I had to do was fill up the rest of the page. I glanced over to where my sibs sat on the floor writing their own reports. Wakko crumpled up his seventh piece of paper and swallowed it. Must be nice to be your own portable trash bin. I stood and stretched to my full extent, making sure my sibs saw it and followed suit. It was a mutual agreement: we were taking a break for some good old-fashioned chaos. My scarf sat on the only coat rack we owned (we really ought to own more – for nefarious purposes of course) and I snatched it up on our way out.

Forty-eight minutes and twenty-three seconds later (Dot counted), we were sitting – more or less – in Plotz's meeting room, where said meeting had just adjourned. I was sitting nonchalantly on the edge of the table; both Dot and Wakko leaned against it in a similar manner, while Scratchy had seated himself by the window in a chair he had pulled from its spot under the table, and Plotz stood beside me, just barely rising to my height as he was standing upon the table itself. He was also lecturing his head off at us. To be completely truthful, we were only half-listening; just aware enough to make an annoyingly clever or sarcastic comment if the need arose. As it was, I couldn't suppress my gasp of pain when Plotz took it upon himself to snatch me up by the scruff of the neck.

"Put. Me. Down."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here's the second chapter; hope it's good. The Plotz thickens! Can't believe I just wrote that… anyways, enjoy!**

**This Chapter: Scratchansniff's Point of View**

**Next Chapter: Dot's Point of View**

**Chapter 2**

I sat in Plotz's office by the curtained window, watching as he paced back and forth atop the table. I was relieved he hadn't asked me to do anything yet, but was wondering why he had called me here all the same. Probably to make me crunch in some more sessions with the Warners. I just sat and listened to his heated speech. He must have been drinking the bottle of whisky he kept hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk, as his speech was slightly slurred, and his pattern of thought was way off. This was especially evident when he somehow managed to grab Yakko by the scruff of his neck and was spoke as menacingly as he could with a puffy red face. But what really surprised me was the Warner's reaction to the action. Yakko gasped in what I assumed to be surprise, but that idea was shot down by Dot and Wakko's looks of slight apprehension, and the sharp intake of breath that Dot hadn't quite managed to hide. This was all unusual in itself, but it was the tone in Yakko's voice that sent a chill down my spine.

"Put. Me. Down." It was a simple request, but the manner in which he said it seemed to shake Plotz out of his half-drunken rage and he set Yakko gently back onto his feet. The eldest Warner shook slightly as he straightened himself up. Then the strangest thing happened.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing happened. It was as though the whole incident had never occurred. The three Warner siblings simply let Plotz fall back into his prior rant, and leaned against the table once again. I must have looked utterly stupefied, because Dot noticed and gave me a wink, as if to say _'You'll never know'_ and went back to playing jacks with her brothers on the floor. Where the game had come from or when it had started, I'll never know, but I suppose that's one of the things I'll always have to live with while working with cartoons. Unpredictability.

Unfortunately, I couldn't just let my rind rest at that. Being unpredictable was one thing, but what had just occurred was something else altogether. I rose from my seat and managed to get to the door before I was spotted.

"Dr. Scratchansniff!" Plotz demanded in my general direction. All eyes in the room were on me. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Not here," I said. Plotz didn't like the answer.

"And why is that?"

"Because I haven't left yet," I said, wondering if the Warners' strange sense of logic was starting to wear off on me. Yakko, Wakko, and Dot confirmed my suspicions when they started laughing, but it took Plotz's whiskey-impaired mind a few minutes to wrap around and understand what I'd just said. When it finally did, his face became even redder than before – something I would have thought impossible.

"You think you're being clever, eh? Well, you're going to be giving these little neck-pains a few more appointments per week! Let's say, one more per day? Now get out of my office!" he shouted the last statement to the room in general. I didn't bother telling him we weren't in his office. I scampered away, wondering if Plotz considered the extra sessions a punishment. Personally, I was glad to get the extra time with them; perhaps I could obtain some clues as to what was going on with Yakko. How long had he been going out for his nightly 'walks', if that really was what he was doing. And what was all the fuss about in Plotz's meeting room? I could understand a dislike of being picked up that way, there was no way it could feel good, but I'd seen them picked up by the scruff before. Then again, that had been when they were filming and it was necessary. I'd made it to the end of the lavishly carpeted hallway and halfway down the stairs when I nearly stumbled in surprise.

"Something on your mind, Scratchy?" Dot asked from the landing a couple of steps below me. Wakko and Yakko stood on either side of her, all three with the same quizzical expression on their faces. Another example of the magic of cartoons.

"No, no, just... thinking," I said. I knew it wasn't a very reassuring or clever response, but I'd have to go about my questioning subtly. I couldn't have them becoming suspicious of my intentions. "Vhat's on your minds?"

"My hat," Wakko said. I almost smiled as I remembered our very first meeting. It was exactly what he'd said at that time. Yakko smiled, and Dot answered the question in a similar fashion, with "A flower." I quietly questioned Yakko's silence, and I had a feeling that the day wasn't going too well for him.

"Really," I said. "Vhat do you vant to ask?"

"When's our first extra session?" Yakko asked. Again, quite out of character. He wouldn't normally let up so easily.

"How about tonight at seven-thirty?" I answered. All three nodded at once and were off in a flash. I stood in the stairwell for another minute. I'd get to the bottom of it, eventually.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here's chapter three. I'm trying to keep up the mysterious element, and keep them all in character. It's kind of hard to do that when they're discussing something serious, so I'm trying to imagine what they'd act like if they actually were serious. Hope it works out. Reviews are very much welcomed - they help me to keep writing.**

**This Chapter: Dot's Point of View**

**Next Chapter: Scratchansniff's Point of View**

**Chapter 3**

"It's happening again isn't it?" I asked as we jumped into our tower.

"Probably," Yakko answered, sitting himself down on the floor, and patting the ground beside him. Wakko and I sat down, forming a rough circle on the ground. This was the way we usually plotted our latest sabotage and annoy-all-studio-personnel schemes. But now, it was a discussion circle.

"But what happened?" Wakko asked. Yakko let out a small sigh.

"Picked me up in a bad spot," he said, reaching a hand behind his neck. I jumped up and moved the fur aside, revealing the two small scars that only the three of us knew were there, but Yakko gently batted my hand away. "It's fine, sis," he said.

"So what do we do?" Wakko asked as I reluctantly sat back down.

"No idea. But Scratchy's going to start asking questions soon, that's for sure," Yakko said. He placed his head in his hands; he suddenly looked very tired, and I didn't blame him. It was only four-thirty, but considering the dose of stress that the day had dished out for him, he obviously just needed to rest and clear his head. But Wakko and I still had a few questions.

"Maybe he'll just pass it off as a dislike for being picked up like that?" I suggested hopefully.

"I doubt it," he answered. "He caught me out last night." The look on my face was mirrored on Wakko's, and I began to share Yakko's view on the matter. Scratchy would definitely start asking questions.

"So do we tell him?" Wakko asked nervously. I could tell he was expecting a loud 'NO' from the both of us, but instead of answering, I let my oldest brother do the honours. It was basically his decision anyway. We had kept his limp a secret at his request; and we all agreed that the events prior to his injury would never be spoken of to anyone.

Wakko and I hadn't understood why Yakko wanted his limp to go unnoticed for the longest time, until he told us by example. At the time, we had just moved ourselves into a small town in the state of New York. We didn't know anybody. After arriving, Wakko and I hadn't let up on the subject of the limp; we wanted to know why it had to be a secret, why he didn't just let himself walk in a way that was a bit more comfortable. He had given us a strange look then, and to our surprise, he gave in. He walked in his normal gait about town with us, and as we strolled along and met the people that held residence there, I found that the people kept giving Yakko sympathetic looks, like he was incapable of what they could do just because his leg didn't function quite the same way theirs did. It was a rather bad limp; I'd give them that, but for some reason the looks annoyed me. Over the next week, we got to know our neighbours, and found chores and other side jobs we could busy ourselves with for a small payment. I had been outside reading by the fence that divided our yard from the neighbour's, and suddenly found myself eavesdropping on the conversation Mr and Mrs Harriet were having. They obviously hadn't noticed my presence. Mrs Harriet was speaking in quite a pitying tone, and from what I'd seen and heard over the last week I knew they were talking about my oldest brother.

"...and with two kids to look after. I know he's a cartoon, and Wakko and Dot are helping as much as they can; but I hear it's getting hard for him to find a job due to his... inability..." she was saying. The word _inability_ stuck in my mind, though the conversation had moved on. It made me angry. The only reason Yakko couldn't find a decent job was because the employers didn't believe he would be able to do it. All because of his _inability_. Now I understood why Yakko didn't want anyone to know, and I had run inside our temporary cottage to tell Wakko. We had left the town that very same night, and I knew it had all been a lesson.

Now, back in the tower, Wakko was waiting patiently, if not a little apprehensively, for an answer to his previous question.

"Do we tell him?" Yakko restated the question as if thinking it over. What came after, I wasn't expecting. "Up to you, sibs." With that, he got up and wandered over to his bed, leaving his green scarf to rest on the headboard. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, the most readable expression I had ever seen him use evident on his features. He was tired and stressed, but the look of confidence he gave Wakko and I as we sat on the floor gave me a strange feeling of responsibility. I hadn't felt that way in a long time. Sure, I'd been responsible for keeping many secrets, but now I was responsible for the decision of whether it was better to keep it or not. Now a thousand questions ran through my head. Could we trust Scratchy? The answer: yes. He knew us better than anyone else in the studio... even if he did get annoyed by our constant trickery and antics. Would he tell anyone else? I didn't think so. I doubted it. And if he did? Would everyone in the studio be able to handle it? I'm sure they could handle Yakko's limping once they'd gotten used to it, they've known him for years. But I knew that that wasn't what Yakko was worried about right now. If they knew, would Plotz and all the rest be able to handle the story behind it?

It wasn't until Wakko poked me in the arm that I came out of my thoughts. Yakko had gone to sleep, something I knew that if he hadn't done it himself, Wakko and I would have made him. Perhaps he knew that too, and that's why he did it. I smiled; responsibility and questions forgotten for the moment, and Wakko and I started up a quiet game of 'What's That Under the Carpet?' It's a game known to most people as '20 Questions', but we revised it into our own extremely complicated game that none of us quite knew all the rules to, and therefore was impossible to win. Especially since one of the rules was to change what you chose to be under the carpet right before someone guessed it correctly. Of course, we made up these rules as we went along.

We were still playing when Yakko woke up an hour later; Wakko had just guessed an aardvark was hiding under the carpet right after I had changed the answer to a ceiling lamp. When I noticed him getting to his feet, I motioned to Wakko. In a flash, we were up and nagging him playfully until he finally agreed to go back to sleep, giving us a well-earned grin. He crawled back into bed, and Wakko and I were satisfied that our mission had been a success.

By seven o'clock, I was becoming a bit anxious again. Wakko and I consulted briefly on the subject, but we hadn't come to an agreement by seven twenty. Yakko had been awake and about for around ten minutes, listening to our discussion, and only stopped us when it was time to leave.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Writer's block is evil… but here's the next chapter! Hope it's enjoyable. I'll have to change the rating to 'T' soon, though. It may turn into quite a dark story… but thank you for reading and reviewing! The mystery continues!**

**This Chapter: Scratchy's Point of View**

**Next Chapter: See Above**

It was dark in my office; I hadn't bothered to turn on a light apart from my desk lamp. It was nice to get away from the glare every once in a while, and I revelled in the peace that I knew in exactly ten minutes would shatter. I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs to support the notebook I set upon my knee. Anyone watching would assume that I was reviewing my notes on the day's appointments, but that wasn't the case as I scribbled down a few more straight lines. A small cartoon face appeared on the page – a design of my own invention. It wasn't a very good drawing, but I really couldn't do much better. I sighed and flipped the page back to my previous notes, but I couldn't focus. I had to figure out how to make it subtle; ask questions that wouldn't sound too suspicious. The Warners would probably figure it out within a minute anyway, considering my usual luck with them. After that, they would probably avoid the topic, or any topic remotely close to it; then I'd have to start over again just to earn their trust back. Oh well, I have to take risks. I consider it part of my job – especially since I work with actors. Some of them even come to me believing that they really are the characters they're playing.

I glanced at the clock. Two minutes. They'd arrive at seven-thirty on the dot, they always made a point of it, stating that they're too polite to be late, but not enthusiastic about the appointment enough to be early. I fiddled with my pencil, twirling it on the desk until it skidded to the edge and fell off. One minute. Now I was getting a bit nervous. I braced myself to literally hit the ceiling when they popped out of who knows where; the clock hit seven-thirty – and nothing happened. Seven thirty-one: nothing. Seven thirty-two: nothing. The minutes passed a lot slower than they would if I hadn't been paying attention. This was not normal for the Warners, and if anyone knew their habits, I did.

Finally, four minutes late, the Warners walked in. Yes, _walked_. Wakko opened the door and stepped through, closely followed by Dot and then Yakko, who closed the door quietly behind himself. _Quietly_. The confusion I felt must have been plainly displayed on my face, for Yakko gave up a small grin.

"V-vhy are you late?" I stammered. It was the only thing that came to mind at that moment.

"Only by four minutes," Wakko answered as if it wasn't a big deal. I suppose to the average observer, it really wasn't a big deal; but I am a p-sych... a _psychiatrist_ and I knew that four minutes was a long time for the Warners.

"But you are _never_ late!" I said, exasperated. What was wrong with them today? It was the complete opposite of how they usually acted. Just yesterday they were abnormal – which is normal for them. Today... not so much. Then a thought struck me. Maybe my talk with Yakko last night was the culprit. Then they probably already knew what I was up to. I sighed and leaned further into my chair, covering my face with a hand. I had no idea how to start this. My mind had long since drawn a blank. I therefore found myself quite surprised when Dot spoke up.

"Scratchy," she started, "We've got something to tell you." I glanced up to see her look at Wakko, who gave her a slight nod of encouragement. She looked nervous.

"Vhat is it, Dot?" I asked gently, trying to convey to her that she could trust me; all three of them could. "Vhat is said in this room, stays here." That seemed to make her feel a little better.

"We've decided that we'll answer your questions – about earlier."

"Since you seem to want to know," Yakko added. I should've seen that coming. I'll admit I was a little taken aback at their willingness to talk, but my curiosity overcame me.

"Vhat happened to your leg?" I felt like I was being a bit abrupt, like I should probably ease into the question instead of simply asking at the first opportunity, but I couldn't help it.

"Broke it; didn't heal right," Yakko answered. It was a very simple answer, not what I was hoping for, but exactly what I had expected.

"Und vhat about in the meeting room today? I have never heard that tone of voice from you." By the expressions on their faces I could tell that that question was going to be a lot harder to pass over lightly. It probably wasn't the sort of thing that they could just explain away, either. Dot and Wakko glanced at Yakko, who seemed to be the one making the decision whether to answer with the complete truth or not. They had probably talked over this before, but they must not have come to a definite conclusion.

"Eeeeh, it's kind of a long story..." Yakko said, looking to the floor. He was still hesitant. Hesitance was a definite sign of a possible hardship or some sort of unbearable embarrassment somewhere in his past. I was instantly intrigued.

"Vill you tell me?" I asked. Yakko looked up at me.

"No." I was expecting that answer, so I was able to cover up the look of disappointment easily enough. But I couldn't help wishing that the answer had been different.

"But I'll show you."


	5. Chapter 5

**This Chapter: Scratchansniff's Point of View**

**Next Chapter: Most Likely Yakko's Point of View**

I have never been inside a memory before; I never thought it to be in the least bit possible. I should know better, I live in a studio lot with cartoons. Yet, just the simple concept of literally stepping into Yakko's memories made me leery. Who knew what sort of strange occurrences awaited. And how was it to be achieved in the first place?

My answer came when Yakko reached into the air and hooked a finger around absolutely nothing. When he pulled his hand down, a panel appeared out of nowhere, and hung in the air like a picture window. The scene inside was of an overcast spring day; a dirt road spotted in puddles of various sizes drew a thin line over the mottled landscape, drawing attention to the previous rain.

"Yakko, are you sure?" Dot asked her eldest brother hesitantly. He only nodded, but that seemed to be enough to calm her.

"Well Scratchy, you wanted to know," Yakko said. "Step inside and see for yourself." He waved a hand graciously towards the panel and bowed in a mock formal manner. I won't pretend that I wasn't a little apprehensive at the thought, especially since I had no idea what would be waiting; but Dot and Wakko took me by the hands and led me inside as Yakko straightened up to watch us enter.

The overcast sky now above us, Wakko, Dot and I glanced back to where the panel now looked into my office, getting steadily smaller until it disappeared completely.

"Are ve trapped?" I asked nervously.

"No, Yakko will open it again when the memory's over," Wakko assured me.

"That's why he stayed behind," Dot added. I got the strange feeling they'd done this sort of thing before. I took in the somewhat dreary landscape that had managed to produce a few clusters of trees dotted irregularly along the thin dirt road that I now found to be quite muddy.

"So vhere are ve?" I asked.

"New York," Dot answered. "We've been walking for about an hour... there we are!" She pointed down the road where three tiny specks could just barely be seen in the far distance. Dot, Wakko and I began to walk down the road towards the memory versions of the Warners, and during the walk I decided to study the memory a bit more carefully. The puddles, I noticed, rippled and splashed under the influence of non-existent rain, and the trees shook their leaves in a profound lack of wind. I pointed this out.

"The current weather isn't the product of the memory. It corresponds with whatever Yakko's feeling right now," Dot explained.

"So the veather ve're seeing isn't the veather that actually occurred..." I mused over this new fact for a moment. We had nearly come upon the three Warner memories; they looked exactly as they were as they stood beside me – or in Yakko's case, in my office. The only difference was that their fur was wet from the rain I couldn't see falling. I took a closer look when I noticed something slightly peculiar. This Yakko's gait was less controlled and far more at ease than it was back in the studio; something I never would have noticed if not presented with a comparison.

All three of them seemed happy; they were jumping into as many puddles as they could and generally acting as they normally would at the studio. The memory Dot splashed her brothers with a particularly large amount of muddy water, and they all broke into a giggling fit. I couldn't help but smile. We followed as they walked along the road for while, before Yakko and Dot halted in their tracks – Wakko continued on for a couple of steps before noticing and running back.

"What is it?" Wakko asked. Yakko put a finger to his lips to silence him. He and Dot were listening for something. Yakko jerked his head around to look between the trees to the side of the road, then ushered his siblings in the other direction. They came to a large tree within a cluster of others that obscured the view of the road, and Yakko helped Dot and Wakko to climb it before scrambling up it himself. Moments later, two men with what looked like modified rifles ran out into the road, looking around wildly with their guns at the ready.

"Vill they see us?" I asked, even though a couple of seconds later I felt a little foolish for it.

"No," Wakko answered. "Nobody can see us." One of the men had lowered his gun and was looking around in slight confusion.

"I don't get it, Brad," he said. "They were here just a minute ago."

"And they still are, I'll bet," the man named Brad answered. Dot took hold of my hand, and stared at him. This must be the point where everything went downhill.

"Who is he?" I asked the two Warners at my side as the men in the memory argued.

"Brad Hart," Wakko answered, taking my other hand. "He's the one who discovered how to bring cartoons literally to life."

"That doesn't sound so bad," I said. Both Dot and Wakko shuddered.

"He kept them prisoner. He'd draw them and lock them up in cages the minute they were off the page," Dot explained. "He'd make them act or sell them for profit. When people started to figure out what he was doing, they complained, and the imprisonment of cartoons was banned."

"Is that vhat happened to you?"

"No," Wakko answered.

"We were drawn by someone else," Dot added. "Ray Murphy."

"He was really nice." Wakko said.

"When the secret to bringing a cartoon to life was accidentally leaked, he drew us. He said we could do as we liked, so we stayed with him."

"But after all cartoons were set free, Brad wanted all of them back, so he hunted them down."

"And this is where he found us," Dot finished the story, pointing up at the tree where the three memory Warners were hiding quietly. I let my gaze rest on where she pointed, noting how each of the Warners were crouched in such a way that they could easily bolt if they needed to. The two men on the road were still arguing heatedly and gesturing wildly. The three Warners in the tree shared a look, and then proceeded to carefully and quietly climb down the tree. They had nearly made it to the bottom when a dart whizzed past Wakko's ear. Yakko hopped to the ground, helped Dot down, and Wakko jumped into his arms. Yakko set him down and grabbed his sibling's hands. They ran off through the trees as fast as they could, followed closely by Brad and his partner. Dot, Wakko and I ran after them, hearing more darts being fired in the direction of the memory Warners. We caught up with them as they made their way out of the patch of woods and into the open fields. A hundred meters away stood another cluster of woods where the Warners were headed as fast as they could. The men followed them out a moment later. Now that he had a clear shot, Brad stopped to aim, and fired another dart.

Dot stumbled and let go of Yakko's hand. Yakko whispered something into Wakko's ear, then let go of him and went back for Dot as Wakko continued to run.

"He told me to keep going," Wakko said from beside me, just to clear up any confusion I might have had. I nodded as I watched Yakko kneel down beside a now-unconscious Dot. Brad's partner fired another dart. It hit Wakko, who had almost made it to the tree line. Yakko could only watch as his younger brother succumbed to the drug and fell down into the long grass. He stood up to face Brad and his partner, standing protectively between the men and his two younger siblings.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I couldn't possibly have Yakko just sit in Scratchy's office and wait for the others to come out of his memory, could I? I suppose I could've, but that'd be no fun to write. Anyway, thank you to those who are reviewing, it pleases me very much!**

**This Chapter: Yakko's Point of View**

**Next Chapter: Ummmmm…**

As the panel closed behind me, I walked over to Scratchy's desk and sat down on the edge of it. It would be several hours before the memory had run its course, and I looked around for something to do. I noticed Scratchy's desk lamp was the only illumination in the room – the sun had gone down half an hour ago – and turned the beam of light towards the wall. I hopped down from the desk and studied the many pictures. Some were black and white, others sepia; the more recent ones were very colourful. As I looked from one picture to the next, I started to wonder if I had done the right thing. It was okay for Scratchy to know, wasn't it? I mean, it was only the most terrible memory the three of us possessed. But I suppose it felt kind of good to tell him; it meant my sibs and I wouldn't have to keep it a secret from him anymore.

I turned from the pictures and sat down in Scratchy's chair, switching off the desk lamp. The darkness of the room calmed me down a bit as I settled back and propped my feet up on the desk, closing my eyes for a moment. The sweet sound of nothing met my ears, the studio having closed down for the night. I don't know how long I sat there, or even if I was awake, but the sound of footsteps outside woke me from whatever form of rest I had been previously occupied with. I slowly rose from the chair and crept up to the window – keeping to the shadows as much as I could – and peeked out into the moonlit studio lot; I couldn't see anything particularly out of place. I glanced at the clock. This was the time I would normally be out walking. I looked back outside, scanning the surrounding buildings carefully. Then I spotted him. A scruffy man with an empty sack over his shoulder, looking this way and that in search of something he evidently wasn't seeing. I didn't recognize him, although he did have an uncanny resemblance to... no. No way. Brad Hart would be dead by now, wouldn't he? Anyway, this guy was too young. But when the man stepped out into full view, there was no mistake. If not Brad Hart, he was a close relation. I glanced at the clock again. It was a couple of minutes before three o'clock. I'd just be coming back from my walk. The Brad twin was waiting for me, there was no doubt. When I hadn't shown up by three, the guy looked at his watch one last time before heading in the direction I would have come. Ten minutes later he was back into view, looking up at the tower with sickening interest. Then he started climbing the ladder.

He had no luck with the door when he got to the top, and I couldn't keep from thinking how ironic all of this was. The very night that my sibs and I decide to tell Scratchy about our experiences with Brad Hart, the guy – or at least his look-alike lackey – comes looking for us. I would have laughed had it not been for the hatred and (I'll admit it) fear that consumed my thoughts. I stood stock-still as the guy pounded on the door of the tower. He'd wake up everyone on the lot. My prediction came true when Jerry Matthews – the custodian of soundstage five – stormed out of the building and began telling him off. As they talked, the conversation became less heated, and eventually Jerry pointed at Scratchy's office. I quickly pulled the curtains back into place, my heart jumping into my throat. He had seen me for sure. The grin that had formed on his face was proof enough.

I snatched a pen from Scratchy's desk and wrote a quick note before running to the door. I swung it open, and there he was standing right in front of me. Up close, I could tell it wasn't Brad; but the malicious look in his eyes told me he was related. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him, and he grinned evilly, reaching out to grab me.

I slammed the door in his face.

I clicked the lock into place and bolted back across the room, picking up a paperweight from the desk. The man had started pounding on the door. It wouldn't be long before he broke through it. I took aim, reached my hand back, and threw the paperweight as hard as I could at the window. A loud crash and the sound of tinkling glass followed; and I ran back to the door, unlocked it, and made my way out of the building while Brad Jr. was checking out the shattered window.

It wasn't long before he found me again. He may not have been extremely smart, but he made up for it in speed and determination. I almost slipped as I took a corner towards soundstage eight, nearly falling before I practically ran into him. I stumbled back as he hefted the empty sack from his shoulder, obviously meaning to stuff me inside. But I wasn't about to let him catch me; at least not before I had led him on a merry chase. I ran in the other direction and turned back around the corner from which I had come. He followed, and I watched him run around the building as I sat on the roof watching. Eventually, he figured out that he wasn't really chasing anything, and he slowed to a stop, looking around himself. He spotted me mere seconds later, and I waved at him mockingly. He shook a fist in a threatening way in my general direction, and I backed up towards the centre of the roof where he couldn't see me. It would take him a while to figure out how to get himself up on the roof, so I took the time to devise an escape plan.

I had hardly begun to think my way out of the situation when I felt a sharp pain collide with the base of my neck. I lurched forward in surprise, feeling the small dart protruding from my skin when I reached a hand over my shoulder to pull it out. I turned around as my body slowly began to succumb to the drug; what I saw was Brad Jr. with an all-too-familiar dart gun in his hand and a smug smile on his face. How had he gotten up here so fast? Such tricks were known only to cartoons, and too complex for anyone else to use. My thoughts became mixed and jumbled; my legs gave out while the drug coursed with morbid efficiency through my system, and the only thing I could feel was the dull pain of being picked up by the scruff of my neck as Brad Jr. stuffed me into the bag.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Sorry for the long-ish wait, starting a new semester and all. This chapter's going to be in two parts, I'm just finishing the editing for the second, so it should be up in due time. This is where the 'T' rating comes in - yes, there's violence, please don't hate me for it! **

**This Chapter: Scratchansniff's Point of View**

**Next Chapter: Scratchansniff's Point of View**

I watched with both interest and unease as the memory Yakko stared grimly at the men before him with an increasing amount of hatred in his eyes. I had never seen such an expression cross his face before, but even now I could tell he was going to characteristically let them make the first move. Brad Hart's partner – who I now knew to be called Terry – raised the dart gun level to Yakko's neck. He shot the dart and it missed its target by several meters, as Yakko no longer stood there. Brad and Terry looked around in confusion, and I found myself unintentionally following suit.

"He's over there," Dot told me, pulling lightly on my sleeve to get my attention and pointing behind the two cartoon hunters. There Yakko stood, the familiar sly grin forming on his face; yet an alien element of resentment mingled with it. The thought of an angry Yakko left me a little unsettled, though curious. As a p-sychiatrist, this was all very revealing.

Yakko poked both men in the back simultaneously, and they jumped in surprise. They spun around just in time to see him run off again at an impossible speed and disappear out of sight. Once more Dot pointed him out to me. He was sitting in a tree above Brad and Terry, swinging his legs and waiting for them to spot him. When they finally did, they let loose a barrage of darts. By the time the darts hit the tree, Yakko was once again gone. It went on like this for quite a while.

"Vhy didn't you just run that fast vhen they vere chasing you?" I asked Wakko and Dot, not exactly sure which one I was talking to but appreciating an answer either way.

"We didn't know we could," Wakko answered as if it were obvious. But however obvious he may have found it, it surprised me.

"Vhy not?"

"Because we'd only been drawn a couple of weeks ago. It hadn't occurred to us that we were any different from everyone else," Dot answered. "Yakko found out first." She waved a hand towards the memory version of her eldest brother.

"It's an instinct," Wakko added to clarify.

"I see," I said, pondering this new revelation. By this time, Yakko had changed his tactic. The dart guns were now empty and abandoned on the ground, and Terry was just barely missing Brad with numerous blind punches as Yakko covered the man's eyes with his gloved hands.

"Terry!" Brad yelled out desperately, trying to block the wild blows. "Terry, he's on your head, you nitwit!" Terry stopped in confusion, and I noted Yakko's smile when Terry aimed a blow at his own head. The eldest Warner leapt from his position and landed neatly on his feet, watching with satisfaction as Terry knocked himself out with the blow. Only he and Brad remained, and Brad was looking slightly more than nervous. The smile dropped from Yakko's features and he became dead serious as he faced the man.

"I don't want to watch this," Dot whispered, and she covered her eyes with a hand. I was more than a little confused. Yakko was beating this guy, wasn't he?

Out of nowhere, a dart flew from the trees, burying itself into Yakko's neck. The Warner ripped it out almost instantly, but some of the drug had already entered his system. He staggered and fell to all fours as five men rushed from the tree line, carrying guns that were probably packed with darts.

"What happened, boss?" One of the five asked.

"Nothing happened!" Brad snapped. He walked cautiously towards Yakko, who was still struggling to fight off unconsciousness on the ground. Brad produced a small, silver-coloured collar from his pocket, and before Yakko could make the slightest move, he clamped it around the cartoon's neck. By this time, Terry had woken up – albeit with a large purple bruise like a bull's-eye taking form on his forehead. Brad motioned to the five that had arrived, and one of the men took the butt of the gun he held and slammed it into Yakko's back, making him cry out and fall the rest of the way to the ground. Terry immediately snatched the cartoon roughly up and held him firmly to the spot, arms pinned to his sides in the man's big hands. The small amount of drugs that had made it into his system and the blow to the back was making him visibly unsteady, and he shook with every movement; but he somehow managed to retain a sort of defiance in his demeanour that still allowed him a sort of dignity.

Nonetheless, I felt something in my stomach jump. Brad had picked up an empty dart gun and was walking determinedly towards his uncooperative captive. I closed my eyes. Even so, I could hear the impact as Brad slammed the butt of the gun into Yakko's chest, and I felt in my veins the same hatred that was etched all over Yakko's features when I opened my eyes. The Warner hadn't even made a sound. I wanted to strangle the man; Wakko had buried his face in my shirt, and Dot had taken hold of my hand again. No matter how much seeing this was hurting me; it had to be hurting them a lot more. I began to regret ever getting so curious. But now that I was here, there was no other choice but to watch it all play through.


	8. Chapter 8

**This Chapter: Scratchansniff's Point of View**

**Next Chapter: Uuuhhhhh…**

As Yakko regained his breath, Brad dropped the empty dart gun into one of his comrade's hands and began to pace.

"This makes no sense!" He yelled at no one in particular, waving his arms in the air. "They're supposed to react to me in fear, not retaliate!"

"Since when are we supposed to make sense?" Yakko asked feebly from his entrapment in Terry's grip, breathing heavily. Brad walked up to him, making a show of being as menacing as possible. He stared down at Yakko with an almost insane glitter in his eyes. It looked so cheesy that I was sure Yakko would have laughed had it not been for the severity of the situation.

"Ever since I imprisoned you," Brad answered in a deep tone that sounded just as lame and theatrical as his walk had looked. He paused dramatically, waiting for an answer from his captive cartoon.

"Nice try, Shatner, but you still don't own us," Yakko said in a far more convincing manner of menacing speech. This comment caused a couple of Brad's lackeys to snicker, and that seemed to push him to the limit. His face turned a bright red colour, and he reached out his hand to one of his men, who took the hint and gave him his hunting knife.

I felt so helpless. I wanted to do something so badly, but even the most brilliant person in the world could do nothing to change a memory. So I watched. Though reluctantly, I watched; all the while reminding myself that this had already happened, there was nothing I could do.

Brad waved a hand at Terry, and the man switched his grip and snatched Yakko up by the scruff, yanking him from the ground like a rag doll. The eldest Warner made a vain attempt to kick the man, but the effort was fruitless. Brad flashed the knife in front of Yakko's face, earning him no more than a scowl. It was clearly not the kind of reaction he'd hoped for. He set it tauntingly against the loose skin at the back of Yakko's neck that was stretched out under Terry's grip.

"I _will _break you," I heard Brad whisper in Yakko's ear. Without further ado, he shoved the knife through the black fur and onwards; and though he tried, Yakko couldn't suppress the cry of pain that escaped him. My stomach did a flurry of relentless somersaults, and it took me a full minute for me to realize that Brad hadn't actually stabbed Yakko in the neck, but rather through the sensitive skin at the back of it that made up the scruff.

Dot squeezed my hand tight – eyes still firmly shut – and I could hear Wakko whimpering slightly into my shirt. I patted him on the back as comfortingly as I could under the circumstances.

"Put. Me. Down." Yakko said in the very same tone that had made Plotz rethink his methods. The only difference was the slight faltering that patched his speech, but it still had the same effect.

He was instantly dropped, and sat panting on the ground, holding the back of his neck; Terry had a strange look on his face, but kept an eye on the eldest Warner while Brad handed the knife back to his lackey.

"And that, my dear cartoon, is what happens when you decide to be _difficult_," he said mockingly, kneeling down to stare at Yakko full in the face. Terry picked up the trembling Warner brother and held him in a chokehold, beginning to drag him towards the road. Dot let go of my hand and Wakko looked up at that point, now suddenly eager for what was to come.

I must say, I was impressed with Yakko regarding what happened next. Even with the drug slowing his movements and his bleeding wound, he still managed to take Terry down. While Brad was off fitting the still sleeping memory Dot and Wakko with those strange silver collars, Yakko elbowed Terry in the gut, then brought his elbow up to meet Terry's chin. He removed the man's arm from his neck and turned it palm-up over his shoulder, snatching the wrist and pulling down hard. The resulting snap was rewarded with a painful yowl from the man. And then, Yakko ran. He ran before the others had a chance to turn around.

What occurred after that, I haven't a clue. Out of nowhere, a blinding flash of lightning obscured my vision, and a thick grey fog rolled sluggishly over the landscape.

"Vhat happened?" I asked, making sure to keep hold of both Dot and Wakko's hands so as not to lose them in the fog.

"Yakko's mood just changed for the worse," Dot answered, looking around.

"Um, Dot?" Wakko asked nervously.

"What is it, Wakko?"

"Remember when you and Yakko were in my memory, and I burned my finger on the stove by accident?"

"Who could forget?" Dot said. But then a look of realization came over her face.

"You don't think...?" She started. Wakko nodded.

"Vhat are you talking about?" I asked, struggling to maintain a hold on the goings-on. The fog rolled away, and a dark night sky appeared overhead. Not a star was to be seen, and I had to squint into the gloom to see anything else.

"When Wakko burnt his finger, Yakko and I were almost hit by lightning in his memory," Dot explained. "I'd say the current weather is nothing, but _this_ is not right," she said as she pointed overhead at the blackness above. I saw the implications.

"Vhat can ve do?"

"Nothing," Wakko said. "We've got to wait until he lets us out."

"Scratchy, you're supposed to be watching," Dot reminded him, and she pointed to the trees. I squinted into the dark, everything coming across as a very murky blue. Then I spotted him. Yakko was sitting heavily against one of the trees, a reddening hand over the bloody patch of mutilated skin at the back of his neck. But what really hit home were the silent tears that etched a miserable pattern down the sides of his cheeks. A rusted blue pickup truck rumbled down the road. Yakko watched it go from his spot amongst the trees, just out of view of wary eyes, and it was then that I realized the tears were not a result of physical pain. The truck was hauling two small cages, and in the cages his siblings were being carried away.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, a deep-set sadness I had never heard from him before dripping from every word. "I'll get you back, I swear," Slowly, the effects of the drug finally overtook him, and he passed out. Wakko, Dot and I were left standing in an eerie, silent darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Dreadfully sorry for the excessively long delay, I guess I'm just not really into writing at the moment, but I promise I will finish this fanfic. I hope the characters aren't OOC, please tell me if they're getting that way. Anyhow, enough rambling on my part. Enjoy.**

**Yakko's POV.**

* * *

><p>I woke to blinding darkness. Everything within my vision was completely black. I opened my eyes; same thing. I closed them again – it wasn't like it was going to make much of a difference. A somewhat familiar pinprick of a pain in the back of my neck made itself known when I tried to move my head. I attempted the movement of my arms, but that did nothing. I must still be in the sack over the Brad look-alike's shoulder. The question was: <em>where<em> was I in the sack over the Brad look-alike's shoulder?

As the rest of my body began to wake up, I could feel the slight swinging motion of my prison as my captor walked to who knows where. My eyes were still closed, but I could almost see the slight glow of the silver-coloured collar at my neck. I could definitely feel the unpleasant warmth it was generating. I would have attempted its removal had I not tried it a thousand times the last time I had it on. I sighed and settled back as far as I could. I had no way of knowing how much longer I'd be in this sack, but I was determined to figure it out.

The guy carrying me over his shoulder definitely wasn't Brad Hart, but he looked a heck of a lot like him. He seemed to have the same mindset, too. But somehow he had managed to get up on the roof within seconds of seeing me, and no one that wasn't a cartoon could do that. Very puzzling. I thought about it for a few minutes more before a idea hit me, as well as a rather hard object from outside my feeble prison. It took me by such surprise that I hardly made a sound, and moments later I was dumped unceremoniously out of the sack and onto a cold, hard, _very_ white floor. I shielded my eyes against the sudden brightness that met them before being whacked by the hard object again. I yelped and grabbed my arm, looking in the direction from which the blow had come. I got to my feet just in time to dodge the next swing and I rolled once again to the floor. Not-Quite-Brad advanced; this time I could clearly see the rough club made from scraps of plywood he held in his hands.

As I dodged the next swing, I glanced around the room – the very familiar room, and I hate to say that a prickling fear ran up my spine. In that very short moment of pause, I left my guard down, and I paid for it with a hit to the back of the head. I fell onto the floor once again; an army of small black spots invading my vision. Sensing he was going for another shot, I rolled away in time to see the plywood snap on the floor beside me. I scrambled to my feet, immediately regretting it as I braced myself with a hand on the wall against the dizziness. This just sucked.

To my complete and utter surprise, the Brad look-alike (I'm just going to call him 'Bla' for now) started laughing. After I got over the initial shock of it, I couldn't really blame him. I probably looked really pathetic – something I could use to my advantage. This was the last clue I needed – if it was the real Brad Hart, he'd know better than to stop long enough to let me start thinking. I concentrated on ignoring the throbbing headache, the dizziness, and the inevitable bruise taking form on my arm – instead contemplating the best escape strategy. Not much was coming to mind.

"You are a lot weaker than my creator made you out to be," Bla said. I glanced up.

"I'm flattered," I said sarcastically in return. "I'm guessing he's the one who taught you your manners, too."

"Manners?"

"Case in point."

As Bla took a moment to recover from his momentary mental incompetence, I was thanking anyone who cared to read my thoughts that this guy was as stupid as most of the cartoon villains I've encountered. Might as well play on his ego.

"So, now that you've got me, what are you planning on?" I asked in a conversational tone. Bla looked at me as though he had forgotten I was there; then he started to think about the question as though he had forgotten what he had actually been planning on. Better change the subject before he remembered.

"Come now, it had to be something very clever. You are CGI after all," I said. "You came from a computer, not a page – computers are smart, wouldn't it transfer?"

"Of course it would!" Bla said, slightly exasperated, but more or less puffing out his chest in pride.

"And you can do anything a simple cartoon can do, right?" I continued.

"Yes, and more."

"And more?"

"Yes! I am stronger than the strongest cartoon! And I can be programmed for a single purpose before I'm out of the computer!" He said proudly. I didn't see how being programmed for a single purpose was a good thing, but this was an idiot I was talking to.

"That's very impressive," I said. Bla nodded and went on to outline all of the other amazing things he could do as a computer generated image, most of which I could do if I didn't have this collar on. At least while he was droning on, I could further analyze what could be used against him. Since he was CGI, his options were limited in the way of manipulating his features and surroundings. They had to remain within the boundaries of their rigging... at least, that's what I kept hearing from the new animation department back at the studio. It could be useful.

A loud clanging sound made itself evident when the door at the far end of the room began to open. Bla immediately stopped talking and rushed over to the door as though his life depended on it. He heaved it open and a very, _very_ old man rolled in on a wheelchair. My heart nearly stopped up my throat and I found myself unintentionally backing further into the wall. It seemed obvious now, and it probably was before; but there was something inside me before this point that was vainly hoping that Brad Hart was no longer alive.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And there we are! The next part will hopefully be up within the week.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Wow… did I ever get that prediction wrong. Within the week, I said. What's it been, a month… maybe more? *Slinks away and hides in corner* Sorry! I could explain a bunch of boring excuses that have nothing to do with my life; or I could just confess that I've put it off to write other fan fictions. I hope this chapter sort of makes up for it, although I'm not very proud of it. It's mostly just a filler chapter to explain how Scratchy, Dot and Wakko get out of the memory… so I don't know how well it turned out. Hope you enjoy it!**

**Scratchy's POV**

* * *

><p>"Vhat's happening?" I asked, not afraid to admit my apprehension.<p>

"He was knocked out, remember?" Dot said. "You don't remember much when you're not all there."

"Right..." I glanced once again through the gloom in hopes of seeing something, _anything_ that resembled light. Still nothing. There was something unnerving about the completeness of the silence and the fact that I still couldn't see my hand even if I stuck my fingers in my eye. Not that I'd try it.

"How long vill it last?"

"Not too much longer." Wakko answered. I nodded, and then felt like an idiot for it. They couldn't see me. Another minute passed. I felt like the world was closing in on me as I stood, staring into absolutely nothing. Then, just when I felt I couldn't bear it anymore and might succumb to hyperventilating, a bright flash of white light met my eyes. I wondered if maybe the darkness might have been better.

"Vhat vas that?" I asked.

"I don't know," Wakko said, sounding a little nervous. The streak of white that had been burned into my retinas had hardly begun to fade before another flash invaded the dark. I nearly jumped backwards. It was lightning, and it had struck far too close for my liking. Dot accidentally hit my arm before she found my hand and took it. She was shaking slightly.

"Something's wrong," she whispered. Before I could ask what she meant by that, the darkness that surrounded us began to fade into a slightly less dark blur. The slightly less dark blur focused into a hazy bluish scene. When I finally discerned the various shapes of my surroundings and took note of the trees' movements, I found that we were exactly where we had been before. However, the sky maintained a greyish blue as opposed to the previous blackness. The scorching white lightning continued to barrel towards the ground twice more before ceasing altogether. I spotted Yakko leaning against the familiar tree, beginning to come 'round; he was trying shakily to stand. He leaned heavily on the tree for support, holding his head with his other hand as he took in his surroundings. As he spotted the road, something seemed to click; for his hand dropped to his side and he collapsed to a sitting position in the grass. When he hid his face in his hands, I realized that he had just remembered his siblings were gone. What I hadn't expected was the sheer determination, resolve, and completely unfamiliar malice in his gaze when he looked up. He stood, and started walking.

I took hold of both Dot and Wakko's hands and led them along after him. He was headed in the direction we had last seen the truck take off. I had a hunch that I was going to see something I never thought that I would from the eldest Warner, and it intrigued me to no end. Yet, there was that small grain of doubt nagging at my mind from the farthest depths, telling me that something was terribly, _terribly_, wrong. Dot and Wakko were acting incredibly strange and uneasy. Hadn't they seen this before? Perhaps... well, perhaps it wasn't the occurrences of the memory that were bothering them. The only time I had seen them had look genuinely worried throughout this whole ordeal, it had been a result of the weather. The weather... it didn't match the memory. The two Warners at my side had told me from the beginning that the weather reflected what Yakko was feeling _right now_. The lightning, the murky clouds hanging drearily in the blackish sky... what was going on back in the Warner Bros lot?

I stopped walking. Dot and Wakko looked at me quizzically.

"What's wrong, Scratchy?" Dot asked.

"Is there any vay ve can get out of here?" I asked. The more I thought about what could be going on outside this memory, the more worried I got; taking into account what I had seen so far of the Warner's past. Perhaps I was being silly, worrying to this extent about it when for all I knew, Yakko could be fast asleep in my desk chair. Maybe he was just having a nightmare? There was this little voice in the back of my head, though, that continued to tell me that something was off.

"Not that we know of," Dot answered.

"Have we ever tried?" Wakko returned. I got the feeling he was just as anxious as I was.

"No..." Dot considered this for a moment. "We could always ask..."

"Ask who?" Wakko inquired. Then he caught his sister's drift and nodded. Dot looked up to the sky.

"Will you let us out?" She asked loudly. Nothing happened.

"Dot," I said. "I don't think that's going to vork." It seemed a little far-fetched, even for a cartoon. She shushed me. I still didn't see the logic in this method, but I obliged and made no further comment.

"It was the wrong question," she said simply. Then she looked up again.

"Are you going to let us out, or what!" she practically yelled. I almost smiled.

"You should be more polite," Wakko stated with mock authority as he stood beside his sister. He looked up.

"Would you be so kind as to _please_ let us out?" He asked as nicely as he could. I wasn't expecting anything to happen, but I couldn't say that I was surprised when the air in front of us began to shift. Perhaps I was getting used to these cartoon miracles after all.

The very same panel that I had seen before opened up to reveal the calm quiet of my office. I looked back over my shoulder as I stepped through, catching one last glance of the memory Yakko as he walked down the road. Where he was headed, I had no idea. My curiosity burned, but this new feeling of concern seemed to be more important at the moment. I tried to set my mind at ease with the hope that _my_ Yakko – the one from the present – was still in my office where he was safe.

My office was dark, not a movement to note. Wakko and Dot followed me through the panel a moment later, looking around. It all seemed relatively normal, until I spotted a bright crystalline gleam on the floor near the window. When I stepped closer, I realized that it was the window itself; well, shattered bits of it anyway. Careful not to step on the glass, I peered out into the night. The moonlight shone on the innumerable pieces of shattered window that lay on the ground. There was much more of a mess of it outside, which indicated that it had been broken from within. My stomach somersaulted. What in the world happened?

I rushed Dot and Wakko outside, and took a look at the shattered window from another perspective. It gave me no further clues when I looked inside the building, but I did find my paperweight broken on the cement. In a sort of daze, I took it back inside and set it on the desk. It seemed like such a normal thing to do under the circumstances, even though I knew it wasn't. Dot and Wakko remained silent as they watched me scan the desk absentmindedly. I could practically feel their worry in the air of the room itself.

"Go see if he's in the vater tower," I said. It would give them some ease to think that they were doing something to help, even though all three of us knew Yakko was gone. But where? Wakko dashed from the room and Dot followed. The minute they were gone, I looked over the room once more for anything else I could use, but I eventually came back to the desk and picked up the paperweight again to inspect it. It was quite a clean break, right down the middle. I held the pieces up and attempted to match them together. But then something caught my eye that nearly made me drop them. Between the two halves obscuring my vision was a simple, handwritten note. A far too easily overlooked simple, handwritten note. I nearly tore it in my eagerness as I snatched it up. Two simple words were inscribed on it. Two very innocent, terrible, heart-wrenching words that formed a name I had only just learned. Brad Hart.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Reviews are always welcome!**


End file.
